The wings have been exchanged for a Superman cape because the organisation cum religion (organiligion?), after a quick morph into Islam with baffle everyone by morphing into Zoroastrianism a la Nietzsche. You'll find new light in the Watchtower announcing that God is dead, evidently. And that in order to accept this, you must embrace the abyss. Doing so requires something superhuman because now you face eternal despair. But you become SUPER as in superman and develop the beautiful illness. You become insane, then you'll never notice the anomalies in the Watchtower.
1984
He was back in the Ministry of Love, with everything forgiven,
his soul white as snow. He was in the public dock, confessing
everything, implicating everybody. He was walking down the
white-tiled corridor, with the feeling of walking in sunlight,
and an armed guard at his back. The longhoped-for bullet was
entering his brain.
He gazed up at the enormous face. Forty years it had taken
him to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark
moustache. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn,
self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two gin-scented tears
trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right,
everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won
the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother